My Best Friend's Hot
by roktavor
Summary: Honey comes to an earth-shattering realization. (Soulmate AU)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Title is from a Dollyrots song, which I recommend listening to, bc imo it suits them and the mood of this fic p well!

* * *

 **My Best Friend's Hot**

A complete and total accident – that's how it starts.

See, as a rule, Honey and Trois don't bathe together. They don't shower together. They don't ever so much as change clothes around each other. For (what used to be) obvious reasons, they routinely take turns using the bathroom in order to avoid it.

As such, for as long as Honey has known Trois, he's never seen him naked.

And he would have continued to live in that blissful ignorance…if only Trois weren't hogging the bathroom right now, consequently holding all of Honey's hair products hostage.

"What's taking you so long?! You've been in there all morning!" Honey shouts, banging on the bathroom door with a closed fist. "My fan club will be here in ten minutes, and I'm not facing them with my hair like this!"

" _Our_ fan club," Trois' cool voice is barely muffled by the thin wood of the door. "You're not being very gentlemanly at the moment."

Honey kicks the door this time, grinding his teeth. Like Trois has any room to talk – he's sure that gentlemen don't take more than two hours in the bathroom when they know others need to use the space. He intends to snap back with exactly that fact, but what comes out of his mouth instead is a simple "Shut the fuck up!"

His slip-up must be somehow successful, though, because the bathroom door slides open to reveal an unimpressed Trois. One delicate eyebrow is raised as his hand lingers on the doorjamb, and he's clad only in a towel riding low on his waist. He doesn't even have his glasses on.

"You're not even dressed yet?" Honey grumbles, shouldering past his cellmate and making a beeline for the small closet. "The hell have you been _doing_ in here?"

"Your temper really makes you unattractive, you know," Trois says, not even bothering to answer Honey's question.

Honey's hand grips the doorknob so tight that it leaves indents, but he manages to control himself enough not to slam it into the wall as he swings the closet door open. "Damn you, Trois," he spits. He can practically hear Trois' self-satisfied, preening smirk behind him. "Just put some fucking clothes on already."

"As soon as I'm finished moisturizing," Trois says, feet padding softly over the tile floor.

Muttering under his breath, Honey snatches his lightweight hair smoothing serum from its place on the top shelf. He stomps his way over to the mirror, then, and wow he really is making a nasty face at the moment. Trois – _damn him_ – is right about that.

So Honey focuses on calming his irritation (…or at least hiding the outward signs of it) until the lines around his eyes smooth out and the tense set of his mouth eases into a suave grin. Much better, he thinks, lowering his eyelids at himself and admiring the way his lashes flutter against the beauty mark high on his cheekbone. Truly handsome, as usual. The only thing out of place now is his hair, and he forces himself not to scowl when he sees the state it's in. Those arrows are all sticking up rigid and bent, and he squeezes a generous amount of product onto his hands to deal with them.

Fingers threading through his hair, his eyes just happen to slip away from his own reflection and catch sight of what's behind him. In the mirror, he sees Trois with his left foot poised on the edge of the bathtub as he rubs sweet-scented body butter into his already flawless skin.

…And then comes the accident. Trois leans forward to get to his ankle, and somehow that disrupts the knot of his towel, and it comes loose, and wow Honey's hands suddenly have a way-too-tight grip on his hair.

"Whoops," Trois mumbles, barely audible even without the sudden pounding pulse in Honey's ears.

He has to look away. He can't keep staring like this, or else Trois will notice. See, he's already bending down (shit, fuck!) to retrieve his towel from where it fell to the floor. Any second now he'll cover up, and then his eyes will inevitably catch Honey's in the mirror and so he _really should look away right the fuck now but_ –

But. Something other than the brief flash view of Trois' junk pulls on Honey's attention like one of his bullet wires. The bright flare of red on the upper left side of Trois' ass is familiar. Unmistakable, even. It's a mark that Honey sees every day when he looks in the mirror, after all.

A small heart, divided horizontally in the middle so that it resembles a lipstick kiss.

Honey's soulmate mark, and there it is, sitting pretty on the swell of his cellmate's asscheek.

All these years of yearning to find it under the clothes of a beautiful woman…and it's been… _there_. The arrows of Honey's hair strain to go rigid again under his fingers, and he knows he's blushing. Somehow he finally manages to tear his gaze back to his own reflection.

He finds his eyes filled with something akin to panic.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

x

It all goes downhill fast after that, of course.

Ever since that fateful incident ( _accident_ ) in the bathroom, Honey can't stop noticing Trois. Can't stop thinking about him, either, and always at the worst, most inconvenient times.

That first day, during the immediate aftermath, it had been easy to ignore his discovery. Their fan club had visited, and there had been a dizzying number of pretty girls to keep him busy. Losing himself in their beauty as they fawned over his own had been as natural as ever.

But now that they're long gone….

Now that there are no distractions, and there haven't really been any for about a week….

Honey is _not_ freaking out. He's past that stage. He's better than that. His mind just runs itself in Trois-flavored circles whenever it gets the chance. Which is increasingly often these days. Nothing to worry about, he's sure.

At the moment, he's trying to fall asleep with limited success. Trois is on the futon next to his, eyes covered with a sleeping mask, his breathing slow and deep. Moonlight spills through the single window of their cell and washes over his pale skin; in this light, he glows.

Honey wishes he wasn't so entranced, and wrenches his head away to stare up at the ceiling instead. There are a couple tasteful pinups up there, but his eyes don't seem to want to focus on them.

Go figure.

No, his traitorous eyes would rather sliiiide over to the side to ogle Trois' sleeping form.

"Tch."

Rolling over so he's on his side facing _away_ from Trois is the only course of action left to him, so he takes it. This is ridiculous, he thinks for the hundredth (thousandth?) time as he closes his eyes and tries to empty his head.

…It doesn't work, of course, because the insides of his eyelids are apparently seared with the image of Trois' bare backside, adorned with the telltale soulmark. No matter what Honey does with this information, there's no escaping the fact that Trois is his soulmate.

Platonic soulmates exist, sure, but then why is Honey –

Nope, no, brain _do not_ go there. Don't go there again, just ignore –

 _But then why is Honey_ having trouble keeping his eyes from raking up Trois' form while the other is preoccupied? Why does he now stare at Trois' mouth and think too hard about what his lip balm might taste like? Why is he constantly fighting the urge to reach out and run a finger along the edge of Trois' glasses, and compliment the way they highlight his eyes?

Most jarring of all, why (oh _why_ ) does Honey's mind supply him with images of Trois' long, elegant fingers easily hefting and handling bazookas whenever he rubs one out lately?

Pressing his thighs together and curling in on himself a bit, Honey growls under his breath. This train of thought is a bad idea, he knows, but his brain is remarkably uncooperative as of late. To think that he could be developing a crush on a man – on _Trois_ – is.

Well.

It's not bad, and that's kind of the worst part.

So okay, maybe he's falling for his longtime companion. Maybe his cellmate just so happens to be his soulmate as well. That considered…is the soulmark to blame for Honey's newfound feelings? Or are they genuine? He worries over this, if he's being honest, and spends an awful lot of time sifting through every memory he has with Trois, searching for hints that these feelings have been dormant all along.

The answer he finds is that he's always been fond of Trois, one way or another – he figures that seeing the soulmark on Trois is what awakened him to the idea of a romantic (and/or sexual) relationship with him. In that case, maybe he'll get lucky and the urge to do things like hold Trois' hand and smell his hair will disappear soon.

Those thoughts in turn bring him to another question, as they always do: Does Trois know? Honey's mark is in a spot that would be a pain to hide, so he's never bothered, so Trois _must_ know.

Unless Trois hasn't seen his own mark, of course. But Honey knows that the two of them are similar enough in the ways that matter to come to the conclusion that _of course Trois has seen it_. Of course Trois has checked out his own ass. Of course Trois knows that they're soulmates.

And that particular realization brings him around to the final, most daunting question he has.

If Trois knows…why hasn't he done anything about it?

Does he not like Honey that way? Is that it? Honey's a damn fine catch if he does say so himself. Maybe Trois really is straight. Honey thought he was, too, until roughly a week ago, so anything is possible. Does Honey _want_ Trois to like him? Would either of them be willing to pursue an actual relationship?

With an irritated groan, Honey grips the sides of his pillow and crushes his head between them. He'll never get any sleep again at this rate.

There's a tap on his shoulder, and Honey's entire body jerks so hard he bites his tongue. He flips around on reflex, and catches sight of Trois, who is now wide awake. His eye mask is pushed up to his forehead, mussing up lemon lime hair as he regards Honey with a miffed facial expression.

"Can you stop tossing and turning like that? I may not need beauty sleep, but you'll get bags under your eyes if you don't rest."

"Damn you, Trois!" Honey snaps. He feels his face flush, but he's not sure whether it's from embarrassment or anger. At this point it doesn't really matter.

Trois' lips tip up in a smirk, and Honey buries his face in his pillow and seethes.

x

The next morning finds Honey in the bathroom, applying makeup to cover the dark circles under his eyes. Trois is in the doorway, arms casually folded as he watches with a completely obnoxious look on his face – it's almost smug even.

"Damn you, Trois," Honey grumbles under his breath, his eyelid twitching and nearly making him jab himself in the eye as he dabs concealer beneath it. It's all Trois' fault, after all, that Honey hadn't been able to get any sleep last night. Stupid, sexy Trois.

From his spot by the door, Trois sighs. "I told you this would happen," he says, his commentary completely unhelpful as ever.

Honey growls in response, flipping him off with his left hand while his right is busy blending the concealer (with probably more fervor than is necessary).

"Now, Honey, that's not very –"

Snapping, Honey flings the makeup brush at Trois' aggravating head with as much force as he can muster. He swears he breathes steam out of his nose when Trois sidesteps the brush and it clatters harmlessly to the floor of their cell behind him. He can definitely feel a vein in his forehead throbbing, at any rate.

Trois, at least, doesn't look quite so unruffled anymore. His thin eyebrows are scrunched in a little, and his mouth is slightly downturned at the corners. "What's gotten into you, lately?" he asks, a hard edge to his voice. "You've been more irritable than usual."

"I'm fine," Honey says, in a tone he knows is not-at-all convincing. Rather than continuing to look at Trois' face, he busies himself with digging through Trois' makeup bag in search of his brush. As soon as he finds it, he goes back to his rigorous blending.

"You'll give yourself wrinkles if you keep being so harsh on such sensitive skin."

"Get the fuck out, Trois!"

With another delicate sigh, Trois does as he's told.

Honey watches him go before turning back to his work, this time brushing in the concealer gently until he's finished. The bags under his eyes are sufficiently covered, but he glowers at his reflection anyway.

Trois _noticed_. He might not know what it is he's noticed yet, but if he keeps paying attention he'll figure it out. Which is not at all something Honey wants – or maybe it is, but he just. He needs more time to puzzle this out. Or maybe get over it. Learn to ignore his newfound longing, or whatever.

It'll all be okay if this can just blow over, so Honey stares at himself and silently promises to remain his usual, chill self until then.

Should be easy enough.

Right?

x

They're hanging out in Uno's rec room today, and Honey is absolutely failing at keeping himself focused on darts. Doing something he's so skilled at would ordinarily keep him focused by virtue of making him look cool, but Uno is such a lousy opponent that his attention is bound to wander.

Aaand these days, when Honey's attention wanders, it always ends up –

Fingers dig into either side of Honey's waist, and he jolts away from the contact with a shout. He rounds on the culprit standing behind him, coming face to face with Uno.

"So," Uno says, crafty smile in place as he ignores the obvious frustration radiating from Honey, "why have you been staring at Trois all day?"

"We've only been in here fifteen minutes," Honey snaps. He hates that he can feel a flush creeping up his neck and over his cheeks. He tells himself that this time, it's fueled by rage and rage alone. _Not_ embarrassment at being caught ogling.

Uno raises his eyebrows. "That's long enough."

"Shut the fuck up!" Honey's eyes betray him by darting over towards Trois, checking that he's still preoccupied with showing Nico how to play pool. Fortunately, he still is… _unfortunately_ , Uno follows his gaze and is now looking between the two of them, his face alight with realization.

Honey looks away as quick as he can. The only thing worse than a suspicious Trois is a suspicious Uno, and now he's gone and gotten himself pinned between _both_. Great. He marches over to the dartboard, grumbling darkly and trying to will away his blush as he yanks the darts out.

True to obnoxious form, Uno traipses along right on his heels, leaning into Honey's personal space from behind. "How long has _this_ been going on?" He sounds way too enthusiastic over something that is _none of his damn business_. "Is it mutual or unrequited? Ooh – does Trois even know? Are you gonna tell him?"

Blood pressure rising with each question, Honey fights off the urge to stab Uno with his handful of darts. He clenches his fist around them instead, and he's sure they'll break under the pressure, but that's not his problem right now.

"Shut up!" he hisses, turning around so he can get in Uno's face. The bastard is grinning, eyes sparkling with some kind of evil mischief, and Honey can feel that vein in his forehead throbbing again.

"I didn't know you swung that way. Do you need help confessing?" Uno continues, bouncing up onto his toes a few times, his expression still all cutesy. He clasps his hands together in front of his chest. "Are you planning on ignoring the soulmarks in favor of true love? Giving destiny the finger in favor of doing whatever you want sounds like you~"

Two of the darts in Honey's fist snap in half, their pieces clattering to the floor. He's grinding his teeth so hard that they'll probably be stubs soon. His empty hand reaches up to cover the heart on his neck against his will, and he's already cursing himself out before the motion is complete.

Well, fuck.

Uno gasps, overdramatic and wistful, and then steps ever closer to Honey. "Or," he says, volume rising, " _are_ you soulmates?!" He grabs at Honey's wrist with both hands, trying to pry his palm away from his neck –

– But Honey's way ahead of him, hand twisting away from his soulmark in favor of covering Uno's mouth. Honey drops the darts in his other hand so he can grab a fistful of Uno's shirt and use it to haul him in close. "I said zip it!" he snarls. "It's none of your fucking business!"

He's leveling Uno with his best glare, and at close quarters this should be enough to faze anyone…so of course it has no effect on him. A tongue darts out and licks along his palm, and Honey withdraws that hand with a grimace, forming it into a fist and getting ready to swing.

"Why you –!"

Despite the hand still clutching his tank top, Uno leans away when the punch is thrown, causing Honey to swing wide. Growling, Honey recovers his balance, only to notice that Uno doesn't even seem to be paying attention. Instead, he's focused on the pool table, a broad grin on his face.

"Honey, look!" he says, pointing.

Like an _idiot_ , Honey turns to follow the finger. He's met with the sight of Trois, bent leisurely over the side of the pool table as he lines up a shot, his pert ass in full view. It's enough to distract him for a full five seconds before the reality of the situation hits him and his face goes right back to a furious shade of red.

Uno is giggling, apparently proud of himself.

"D-damn you, Trois!" Honey shouts.

This time, his punch aimed at Uno doesn't miss.

x

"Honestly, Honey, what's _with_ you?"

Honey – who is _absolutely not_ brooding in the corner of their cell in a pile of his bedding – frowns. "Nothing," he insists, "I'm fine!"

Pretty, red eyes roll behind pretty, red glasses frames. Despite everything, Honey feels a surge of excitement at getting such a reaction out of the usually collected Trois.

"You're obviously not," Trois says, and his tone reminds Honey of a lecturing mother.

…Which in turn reminds him of Kiji lecturing him earlier, checking his face for damage after his spat with Uno. _This_ in turn reminds him of the _reason_ for his spat with Uno, and _that_ of course makes him deepen his scowl and sink further down and into the blankets he's got bunched in his lap.

Stupid Uno.

Stupid _Trois_.

Damn them both.

At his stubborn silence, Trois only sighs. He looks a single, out-of-place remark away from throwing his hands into the air with frustration, but instead he disappears into the bathroom with his pajamas tucked under his arm.

Part of Honey laments that he'll be changing out of sight as usual, while the reasonable half of him (which grows smaller every day) is grateful. Everything is already so out of hand. His weird little crush is ballooning until it plays a part in every facet of his day, and Honey feels like he might explode if this goes on much longer.

Something's gotta give sooner or later, and at this rate, it'll be him.

Not that confessing would be bad.

Or would it?

The idea has been gaining appeal, but Honey's been fighting it. All those old what-ifs from last night are back and arguing their case well, although he still can't help but think his mind might finally let him rest if he got his feelings out in the open. Hell, maybe confessing to Trois would get rid of them once and for all!

…That thought actually makes him kind of sad, so he decides not to dwell on it. Maybe for now, the best thing to do would be to test the waters? Honey doesn't want to look like an idiot and get rejected. Poking around subtly might be a good way to see if Trois reciprocates. (If. If Honey even wants him to. That is.)

But how to do that, though? He can't treat Trois like he treats girls, because Trois knows all his tricks and would find him out instantly. So what does that leave him with? His natural charm, he supposes. Fortunately, he has heaps of that, plus his good looks.

Trois emerges from the bathroom wearing his matching pajamas, glasses still in place on his face. He tosses his jumpsuit into the hamper, and sets his belt aside for the morning before taking his futon out and carrying it to the usual spot.

From his place in the corner, pillow behind him and futon cocooned around him, Honey tries to pretend he isn't watching.

His bed all set up, Trois stretches his arms upwards, rocking up onto his toes and letting out a soft groan. If that weren't enough, the action also hikes his shirt up to reveal a thin strip of his abdomen, and Honey's eyes zero in on it like it's the bullseye on a dartboard.

It's the bathroom all over again, with Honey's brain screaming at him to look away before Trois notices – only this time, he isn't fast enough.

"Honey," is all Trois says.

For a moment, Honey finds himself frozen. Trois has finished stretching, so that patch of skin is covered again, but Honey's eyes remain glued to the spot for a while before he drags them up to meet Trois' gaze. He wants to offer some kind of retort or excuse, or even just a snappish 'what?' in retaliation. But seeing Trois' face, with one of his eyebrows cocked and a knowing look in his eyes…well…it does something.

"Take your glasses off," Honey finds himself saying before he can stop, "you're too handsome with them on."

Surprise is an infrequent look on Trois' face, and unfortunately it doesn't stick around long, soon melting into something haughtier. "It's not my fault you're intimidated by my looks. I am the most handsome one in this prison, after all."

Honey grits his teeth. This is the exact kind of thing that makes him question and doubt his attraction – yet it's _also_ the exact kind of thing that's a bit of a turn-on recently. He's tired of puzzling that out.

"Second most handsome," Honey corrects, because he isn't about to let that slide. Crush or no, there's still a clear winner between the two of them. "I'm just saying, that –" he swallows, fighting the urge to turn away and glare into a corner, "– that your glasses look really good on you." He bites his tongue before the 'sexy, even' can slip out and tack itself onto the end of that sentence.

There's that shock on Trois' face again, but once Honey blinks, it's already turned into a self-satisfied grin. "Why, Honey, was that a genuine compliment?"

"Maybe!" Honey snaps, pounding his fists into his lap and feeling the arrows in his hair stand at attention. Nerves and irritation fight a war in his gut. "What of it?!"

Still smiling like he's finally taken apart a machine and found what makes it tick, Trois shakes his head. "Next thing I know," he says, removing his glasses and placing them back in their case, "you'll be asking what color of panties I'm wearing."

His tone is lightly sarcastic, though, and Honey thinks this might count as playful flirting. Unless that's wishful thinking? Maybe the long day and lack of sleep from the night before are catching up to him, but he decides 'fuck it' and goes out on a limb.

"Well," he says, trying to sound as casual as possible, "what color panties _are_ you wearing?"

Settling down into his futon, Trois pulls his sleeping mask over his eyes and responds coolly: "I'm not wearing any."

Honey chokes on his own spit.

"I'm wearing boxer briefs at the moment."

"Damn you," Honey forces out in the middle of a painful coughing fit, "Trois!" If he squints through the darkness, he can barely make out a soft, almost triumphant smile on Trois' face.

"Goodnight to you, too, Honey."

x

At this point in the game, Honey honestly hadn't thought things could get any more stressful, but it turns out he was wrong.

He was very, very wrong.

See, there's a new development in his rollercoaster of feelings for his cellmate.

It's worse than the thoughts that keep him up all night. It's worse than Uno's cajoling and faux attempts at advice. It's even worse than the charming little smile Kiji gave him the other day when he caught Honey staring too long at guess-the-fuck-who. It may even be worse than all of those combined.

Or better, he supposes, depending on your point of view or the time of day or the position of the stars.

Deft fingers tipped in mint green tighten around the wrench, and Trois jerks it to the side, cranking the nut into place. He grunts when it gets harder to turn, his face showing the barest hint of strain, looking serious and focused. When he's done, he pulls the wrench away – but not before running his hands sensually over the shaft of it.

Oh, no, it's definitely worse.

Trois has his hand fisted loosely around the wrench now, while he surveys his work. His thumb is resting just under where the head flares out, and it's rubbing back and forth in a way that's carefully crafted to look absentminded.

Next to him, Honey feels ready to up his sentence by committing murder. Or maybe Trois should get a few years tacked onto his sentence instead. What he's doing _has_ to be illegal somewhere, because it's driving Honey up the wall.

The possibility that Trois would catch on to Honey's recently developed crush has always existed, and once or twice Honey had even longed for it.

He had no idea that it would turn out like _this_.

Thinly veiled erotica with a wrench is _not_ flirting, and Honey wants to shout that fact directly into Trois' ear. But that would be highly incriminating, so he doesn't. Instead he stares helplessly as Trois toys with the business end of the wrench and taps it against his lips in thought.

It's building three's day to work in furniture construction, and Honey can't help but think that nuts and bolts are a little too bulky for this kind of craftsmanship. But apparently not in every case. Because the universe absolutely _needs_ Honey to be forced to watch Trois handle every kind of vaguely phallic tool.

And he thought the screwdriver had been bad.

Then again, Honey isn't even sure what they're supposed to be making anymore. Some kind of industrial looking worktable, maybe? The whole process has been uncomfortably distracting and he can't wait to get back to his cell and drown himself in an icy shower.

"Honey," Trois says, turning towards him with a face that's way too innocent, "do you think you could get this tighter for me?"

The way Trois has his hand wrapped around the wrench when he offers it leaves Honey no choice but to place half of his palm over Trois'. His hands are soft, and silky enough to slip easily out from under Honey's, leaving the wrench in his grip.

 _What the fuck does he think he's doing_ , Honey rants in his head, setting the wrench in place. He's handling it normally, thank you very much. Or maybe he shouldn't. Maybe he should give Trois a taste of his own medicine – how would he like that, the bastard?

"Careful with that wrench," Trois says, and out of the corner of his eye, Honey catches him pushing his glasses further up his nose, "it's my personal favorite."

Teeth grinding, Honey gives the wrench a hard enough yank that the bolt splinters the wood.

"Ah, be gentle with the nuts!"

Honey drops the wrench and rounds on him. " _Damn you, Trois!_ "

Something about the amused expression on Trois' face makes Honey want to kiss him right then and there, if only to mess up its perfection. The only thing stopping him is the sudden thought that hits him.

What if Trois is being so heavy handed about this to make fun of Honey?

What if this isn't weird flirting after all, and just a big joke?

He's seen Trois flirt plenty of times before, but this is different, so maybe it _is_ staged. Maybe he's baiting Honey into confessing, only to laugh in his face the minute he does. The idea makes an odd, melancholy feeling swell in Honey's chest, and it deflates his mood immediately.

It's been a few days of this, of Trois doing things like going down on ice cream bars and getting handsy with his tools and even undoing the top half of his jumpsuit to let it hang on his hips because "It's too warm in this cell lately, don't you think?"

Honey thought he got the message loud and clear, but…if it's actually the opposite….

"Honey," Trois says, stepping in front of Honey's train of thought, "what's wrong?" There's a worried crease between his eyebrows, and his eyes are shining with something Honey's never seen before.

Confused, Honey frowns. And lies. "Nothing, why?"

"You felt off, all of a sudden," Trois says with a shrug. His whole demeanor is different now, more genuine, and Honey can't even fabricate a response. "Are you sure you're –"

A harsh ringing interrupts him. "All right! You're all done for the day," the nearest guard shouts. "Back to your cells until dinner!"

The scent of Kiji's perfume precedes him as usual, and then he's there, berating his underling for yelling so close to his most prized prisoners' delicate ears.

Honey tries to distract himself with the spectacle, but Trois is still staring at him with that odd look in his eyes, and eventually (inevitably) it gets Honey's attention. They stare at each other for a moment, Honey searching Trios' eyes for some sign of…something, while he feels Trois doing the same to him. Trois steps closer and opens his mouth to speak, but –

"Come on you two." Kiji steps between them, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. "Let's get you out of such barbaric company."

x

That night is oddly quiet. They don't talk over dinner, or during free time afterwards. Trois seems contemplative all evening, Honey has too much to mull over to bother him about it, and lights-out finds both of them lying side-by-side on their futons, staring at the ceiling.

Stealing more than a few glances at his cellmate tells Honey that Trois is still deep in thought about something. His glasses are away for the night, and he has his sleeping mask pushed up on his forehead, his hair uncharacteristically bunched underneath it. His brow still has that little thoughtful furrow to it.

"Honey," Trois says eventually, his voice soft against the nighttime silence.

Honey hums to acknowledge he's heard, watching Trois with more rapt attention than he wants to admit.

"Do you believe in soulmates?" Trois keeps his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Blinking at his cellmate, Honey moves his arms up to link his fingers behind his head. That's just about the last thing he expected to hear, but his heartrate picks up a bit, considering the subject matter is awfully close to what he's been worrying over for a couple weeks now. He hesitates on a response for too long, though, because Trois soon continues.

"The soulmarks, specifically," he clarifies. "Do you think they're real?" He still isn't looking over at Honey, gaze glued to the ceiling, and even from this side angle, Honey can tell it's intense.

"I…guess they are," Honey answers at length, hesitant to give too much away. "Why?"

For a long while, Trois keeps quiet. During the silence, Honey wills his nerves to calm. This could be nothing, just a casual conversation between friends about one of the oddities of their world. Only that. He's sure it has absolutely nothing to do with any of the recent pseudo-flirting they've been doing.

"I know who has the match to my soulmark," Trois says, and Honey's heart stutters.

Before he opens his big fat mouth, he takes five minutes to remind himself that Trois doesn't know that Honey knows that they're soulmates. If Honey lets that little fact slip here, all bets are off – although he's not quite sure what that would mean in this case.

"Do, um…" he shifts in bed a bit, willing himself not to blab when he really doesn't know where this is going, "do you like this person?"

If Trois answers honestly, this could be the reassurance that Honey has been looking for, one way or the other. Either Trois wants him to lay off and this is his own, polite, roundabout way of saying it, or Trois is giving him the okay to go for it and would rather coerce Honey into making the first move.

"Sometimes," Trois huffs out. "When they're not being unattractive, they can be bearable. Almost pleasant, even."

Honey sits bolt upright, the nerve of that Trois! "I'm always attractive!" he snaps – and only too late he realizes what he's said. "I – I mean, um, I'm sure, that – uh – they are –"

But Trois is giving him his most unimpressed look yet, and Honey's halfhearted attempt at a take-back fizzles out. Pushing his covers back, Trois sits up with careful, measured movements, facing Honey with his legs folded.

"So you know," he says. That unreadable something is back in his eyes, but his expression is otherwise neutral.

"Yeah." Honey can tell that he's blushing again, and he wishes for the umpteenth time that he would _stop doing that already_.

Trois' face twists into a frown, and he shifts onto his knees in a flash. "Damn you, Honey – why didn't you _say_ something?!"

The outburst is a bit shocking, sure, but Honey hardly feels he should be saddled with all the blame here, because after all, "You knew longer than me and _you_ didn't say anything either!" He points at Trois' face as he talks, and Trois swats his hand away.

Still, Trois backs off a bit, settling so his butt is on his heels. "I thought you would just be disappointed if you knew," he says. His voice is almost accusatory. "I'm not a pretty girl, after all."

"Neither am I!" Honey points out, gesturing wildly to himself.

Trois rolls his eyes, and leaves them set in a glare when they settle. "I've been complimenting your appearance for _years_."

"Oh, come on –" Honey grabs fistfuls of his hair and lets out a frustrated growl, the arrows poking up between his fingers. "I thought that was sarcasm – you always end it with an insult!"

Legs twisting so his thighs drop to the side and he's sitting on his hip, Trois sighs. "You may be handsome, but you're not very bright."

"See!" Honey points again, this time with his middle finger. "Exactly like that!" Trois really is the master of the mixed signal, apparently, which is fair because Honey doesn't know if he wants to fight him or kiss him right now. On the one hand, it would seem his affections are returned, which is great – on the other, this hot mess is not exactly how he saw the whole requited confession thing going.

Trois pushes his fist away, tucking Honey's middle finger back into place as he does.

For a while, they just sit and stare at each other. Honey seethes, and Trois – damn, damn, _damn him_ – looks to be pouting.

"It's not my fault you can't pick up on flirting," Trois says, at long last.

Honey scowls. "I pick up on flirting just fine. The fact that you suck at it is the problem."

The stare that Trois levels him with is his most deadly yet. "Fine," he says, "I'll be more straightforward about it so you can understand. Do you want to date me, or not?"

There are about a million things he wants to say to that, ranging from telling Trois to go fuck himself to falling to tears and confessing how much he's yearned to hear something like that for weeks now. It turns out, though, that all his frustration can surmount to is a resounding " _Yes,_ damn you!"

"Thank goodness," Trois mutters, and then he's rocking back up onto his knees to press their mouths together.

x

"So," Trois says, an arm thrown over Honey's torso as he cuddles in close against his side, "how did you know about my soulmark?"

Honey feels his cheeks flare up again, but no matter how he ducks his head, there's no way to hide with Trois resting on his shoulder as he is. There's nothing for it but to do his best at a casual explanation. "That day, in the bathroom, when you dropped the towel. I happened to see it in the mirror…."

The grin that Trois gets at this is downright devilish. "Peeping, were we?"

"Damn y–"

Trois swallows the rest of his proclamation down, and snuffs out any further complaints with his lips.


	2. Omake

**A/N:** Warning for mild sexual content here, in case that's not your thing.

* * *

 **[Omake]**

Days later, Honey has Trois pinned to the wall just inside their cell as he devours his mouth. One hand grabs a fistful of green-yellow hair, and Honey yanks on it to angle Trois' head better, getting a groan of appreciation for his effort. The tongue in his mouth tickles the roof of it, so Honey bites it until it retreats. They separate with a slick sound, and Honey relishes in the hot breath rushing out against his parted lips while he tries to catch his own.

Recovering faster, Trois ducks in and presses a warm, lingering kiss to the heart on Honey's neck. Honey can feel him start to work at the area with his tongue and teeth, even sealing his lips over it and sucking. He vows to return the attention to his partner's soulmark later, but for now he gives a pleased hum at the sensation, running one hand appreciatively up Trois' back while the other stays tangled in his hair.

"You're handsome like this," Trois mutters, pulling away and licking his lips as he goes.

"Likewise," Honey says, smirking. Trois' glasses are fogging up a bit, and even _that_ is sexy – Trois goes to push them out of the way, but Honey grabs his hand to stop him. "Don't, they're hot."

Trois brings his other hand up and stubbornly settles the glasses on his forehead. "I can't see when they're like that," he deadpans, raising a brow.

"Mm." Honey prods the glasses with a finger until they fall back down. "Look great on you, though."

There's a longsuffering sigh from Trois as he pulls his hand out of Honey's and takes his glasses off with the other, rubbing away the condensation with his sleeve. When he's done, he slips them back on and meets Honey's eye, tilting his head in what might be an invitation. "Is this a weird fetish of yours?" he asks, tapping the rim of his eyewear.

"Shut the fuck up," Honey says. He can feel his cheeks heating up against his will, and pushes his mouth onto Trois' as payback.

They exchange a handful of deep kisses, lips overlapping and tongues intertwining, and Honey presses close enough to feel Trois' glasses dig into his face - as well as something even more exciting digging in down below. He dips his hips to grind against that something, but Trois pulls back and breaks contact, leaning against the wall and staying barely close enough to touch.

"Speaking of fetishes," Trois says, "isn't there something you'd like to ask me?"

It takes a moment for Honey's brain to click into gear, and when he figures out what Trois means, he can't help the slight scowl that mars his face. "I'm not falling for that again."

"Oh?" This time, both of Trois' elegant eyebrows rise. "Then I guess you'll never know the answer…." As he trails off he turns his head to the side, peeking at Honey out of the corner of his eye with a sort of 'come hither' look that _really shouldn't work_ but does.

Equal parts irritated and intrigued, Honey caves. "Fine," he grumbles, "what color of panties are you wearing?"

Trois smirks like he's won (probably because he has) and adjusts his glasses with one hand so the light glints off of them just so. "Red."

Honey's brain short circuits.

"You…you're serious."

Dipping his head in a nod, that smirk on Trois' face wavers a bit into smile territory, and despite his brain being officially fried, it's not lost on Honey.

"Holy shit." Hands flying to Trois' hips, Honey sinks back into his personal space until their noses are touching. He lets his hands conduct a thorough exploration while he and Trois trade a few more kisses, and when they rove over that supple backside, there's a texture to the fabric underneath the jumpsuit that he recognizes. "Holy fuck," he mutters against Trois' lips.

Pulling his head back, Honey stands on his toes a little so he can press his chin over Trois' shoulder, barely catching sight of where his hands cup his ass. He rubs the flesh and kneads at it, unsure if what he's feeling is real but hoping desperately that it is. There's the added bonus of this action pushing Trois' crotch against him, and Trois is panting a little at the attention. Insistent hands tug at the back of Honey's shirt until he backs off to his initial distance - although his hands stay poised on Trois' ass.

"Trois," Honey says, careful to keep his voice steady and disappointed when it doesn't work. He clears his throat, but it doesn't help. "What's…what's the percentage of _lace_ …?"

Trois' face breaks back into a grin, and he puffs out a laugh or two. "Hm…" he's very obviously pretending to think it over, tilting his head in mock thought as he taps his chin with a finger, his other hand stroking up over Honey's shoulder. "A hundred, if I remember right."

"Oh my god." Honey really can't help the way that mental image makes his knees want to buckle. Trois is looking very blatantly smug right about now, but Honey finds that it's not aggravating in a bad way. Using the hands on his ass, he hauls Trois in and pushes a thigh between his legs, grinding until that composure cracks into a soft, satisfied noise.

"Don't you want to see?" Trois offers, a little breathless, and Honey _knows_ that he's just trying to regain full control of the situation. Honey _knows_ he's being played, and it still works, because _fuck yes_ he absolutely does want to see.

Giving Trois' ass one last lingering squeeze, Honey breaks away to hastily lay out one of their futons.

Then he's got Trois by the hand, and then he has Trois under him, and his fingers are trembling in their haste to untie his tie and undo the buttons of his jumpsuit. Trois – _damn him_ – isn't helping at all. All he's doing is playing with Honey's hair, twirling one of the arrows through his fingers almost lazily.

When he reaches the buttons just above Trois' belt, he feels a flare of frustration at having to unfasten the troublesome thing before he can go further. It's unnecessarily complex, he thinks, and now Trois is humming idly, and the heat of him is _so close_ –

"Damn you, Trois," Honey growls, shaking his head to dislodge those pesky hands still toying with his hair. "Help me undo this fucking thing!"

Trois sighs, although his lips twitch up a bit at the corners. "So impatient. That's awfully ungentlemanly of you." He complies nonetheless, reaching down and deftly undoing his belt before raising his hips a bit to maneuver it out from under himself.

To Honey, it seems to take him forever, and he can feel his heart threatening to pound right out of his chest in anticipation. No sooner has Trois set the belt down off to the side than Honey's hands dive back in, zipping down the fly and pushing the jumpsuit aside so he can finally see that _holy shit holy fuck Trois absolutely_ was not _kidding about the color or the lace percentage_ – _he has to see_ more –

Distantly, he registers the sound of rustling fabric, and then Trois is shimmying under him, pushing the jumpsuit past his hips and as far down his thighs as he can reach. Honey has just enough presence of mind to give him some space for this before settling back over him.

He stares. He can't help it. The color contrasts beautifully against Trois' skin tone, and when Honey runs his hands over his hips, the texture of the lace overlaying the smoothness of his skin is sublime. Taking this further is highly appealing, but just this – just staring at the red lace panties straining and leaving _very_ _little_ to the imagination as he sits on Trois' legs, pinning him – just this is….

Beneath him, one of Trois' knees nudges upwards, jostling Honey out of his thoughts and pulling his attention to Trois' face.

"Next time," Trois says, "will you wear a brassiere for me?"

Honey feels his face darken at least two shades, and there goes that vein in his forehead throbbing again.

"D-damn you, Trois!"

* * *

 **A/N:** …Listen, I didn't mean for it to get this long or this dirty? These two just lend themselves so well to scenarios I don't ordinarily write about? I'm so sorry. Damn you, Trois.

Thanks for reading.


End file.
